


walking meadows in my mind

by hiriki



Category: Pillars of Eternity
Genre: .......OR IS IT, Aloth is a loving nerdball, Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Fever, Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Meirion is a disgusting mess, Post-Canon, Raider Watcher, Romantic Fluff, Sick Character, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Wood Elf Watcher, elves being awkward and getting sick, there is so much fluff im sorry, why can't i ever not write extreme fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-12 23:19:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16005398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiriki/pseuds/hiriki
Summary: It’s quite odd, he thinks at some point, the fact they came to be together at all. When they first met — that bleak, unmemorable afternoon in Gilded Vale that somehow never entirely left Meirion’s thoughts —, there was nothing about Aloth that truly caught his eye, aside from the fact he felt like a richer, prettier version of Meirion himself. And that was more than enough reason for Meirion to absolutely hate him at first sight.





	walking meadows in my mind

“Oh, there you are. I was about to go looking for you myself.”

  
After an afternoon peppered with cannon fire and shouting, Aloth’s familiar voice nearly feels like a welcoming embrace to Meirion. He allows his gaze to wander around the room, hand still grasping the door to his cabin, and feels inexplicably dizzy upon allowing his eyes to rest on Aloth’s candle-lit form. There’s nothing out of ordinary about it; as expected, he’s curled in his favorite armchair, a thick grimoire nestled between his hands, while other five or six books sit in a neat pile at his feet. He didn’t even glance away from his pages, and, really, there’s no need for him to do so; by now, Meirion assumes Aloth recognizes the weight of his footsteps, the way he leans a little on his right leg due to an old injury, and if this isn’t disgustingly domestic and vomit-inducing, he doesn’t know _what_ it is.

  
When Meirion refuses to move for a few seconds longer, however, Aloth does tear his gaze away from his grimoire, and regards him with an all-too familiar pair of worried eyebrows.

  
“…Are you alright? You’re not… moving.”

  
“When am I never not alright?” Meirion grins, dismissing his bout of dizziness altogether, and walks towards his lover. “Just got a little dazzled by your handsomeness, is all.”

  
Aloth rolls his eyes and redirects his gaze back to whatever intricate spell he’s studying, but Meirion doesn’t fail to notice the light shade of pink that colors the tip of his ears. It was more of a joke, of course, one that him and Aloth know well by that point, but still, it’s nice to know his words are appreciated.

  
He bends down to plant a kiss on Aloth’s head, and there’s an uncomfortable sinking sensation at the bottom of his stomach, but he ignores the feeling altogether and casts a curious glance at the book in Aloth’s hands.

  
“Learning something new?”

  
“You could say that,” a quick smile curves Aloth’s lips. “I can show you later, if you’ve got the time.”

  
“Or, you could show me now,” Meirion winks playfully, then frowns. “Unless you still need more time to, uh, learn the magic words?”

  
“No, I’m well acquainted with the, ah, ‘magic words’, thank you.” There’s the ghost of a laughter in every word he says. “Come over here.”

  
Quick as a shadow, Aloth scoots closer to one of the armrests, leaving a considerable amount of space for Meirion to sit with him in the large armchair. Two years ago, they would feel a bit awkward about those kind of things — mostly Aloth, of course, because when you were raised by a band of rowdy pirates as Meirion had been, there was little that could still be considered ‘awkward’ or ‘embarrassing’ —, but now it came as naturally to Aloth as it did to Meirion, and they were more than happy to find all kinds of stupid excuses to cuddle.

  
“Do I really need to be this close, just to see the spell?” Meirion asks with feigned confusion as he nestles himself between Aloth and the armrest.

  
“That would be ideal, yes,” Aloth says, rolling his eyes a second time when Meirion all but wiggles his brows. “You’re not going to make me feel ashamed for wanting to sit with my lover, Meirion.”

  
“I would _never_ ,” Meirion clasps an open hand against his chest in mock indignation.

  
“I’m sure you wouldn’t,” Aloth sighs, but there’s a familiar little smile tugging at the corner of his lips, and Meirion has to stop himself from kissing him mid-sentence. “What were you doing all day, anyway? I heard shouting and shooting, but not much else.”

  
Ah, yes. Typical Aloth Corfiser. Not a thousand cannon balls could tear him apart from a brand-new grimoire, filled with unknown magical riches.

  
“We were testing the new cannons,” Meirion says, and grows annoyed at himself for how stupidly proud he sounds. “Little Leuca spotted a few abandoned ships sinking just south of here. A Vailian fleet, I think? Plenty of abandoned supplies. Anyway, some of that is at the bottom of the sea right now. Our cannoneers had their share of fun, I think. I know I did.”

  
“That explains the gunpowder smell,” Aloth studies him with the same analytical gaze he would often use on particularly cryptic scrolls, and, after seemingly deciding he’s clean enough, he allows his legs to rest against Meirion’s in the cramped space. “Did you even remember to eat?”

  
“Yes, father,” Meirion says, hoping his mockery will distract Aloth from his obvious lie.

  
It doesn’t.

  
“No, you didn’t.” Aloth sighs. “Whatever am I going to do with you? …We should go and find something for you to eat-”

  
“That’s- no,” Meirion takes hold of Aloth’s wrist as he starts to rise from their seat, casting a pleading glance at him. “…Please? I’m tired. I don’t want to eat hardtack, or whatever we have left in those sacks. I’m not even hungry. Can we just- stay here and see your new spell? I would like that very much.”

 

“You’re not hungry?” Aloth frowns. “But you haven’t eaten all day.”

  
“I’m not,” Meirion says, and, this time, he’s not even lying; maybe it was because of all the cannon shots, but his stomach has been jumping around nearly all day, and the mere thought of filling it with anything remotely solid sends shivers down his spine.

  
“We can stay here for a bit,” Aloth concedes, likely defeated by Meirion’s pitiful expression, and lowers himself back in his seat. “But you’ll _have_ to eat something before we go to bed. Please?”

  
“I suppose,” Meirion sighs with some reluctance, and leans against his lover’s shoulder to peer at the worn grimoire he’s still holding. “Now show me that spell of yours.”

  
It’s Aloth’s time to shine then, and Meirion allows himself to be lulled into a comfortable daze by his lover’s carefully excited words. There’s a lot about spellcasting that Meirion still doesn’t understand, nevermind the fact he’s been dating a highly wizardy wizard for quite some time now, but Aloth does his best to use simple words and analogies, and Meirion returns this obvious display of affection by paying attention to his every word, regardless of how mushy his mind feels at the moment.

  
It’s quite odd, he thinks at some point, the fact they came to be together at all. When they first met — that bleak, unmemorable afternoon in Gilded Vale that somehow never entirely left Meirion’s thoughts —, there was nothing about Aloth that truly caught his eye, aside from the fact he felt like a richer, prettier version of Meirion himself. And that was more than enough reason for Meirion to absolutely hate him at first sight. True, they were both Wood Elves, but they couldn’t be more different in every aspect; a lifetime of piracy, looting and raiding in the Deadfire Archipelago had left Meirion with nothing but a terribly accented Aedyran and a natural contempt for rich-looking people. Laying eyes on Aloth for the first time felt like looking at a particularly pretty but irritating picture, one he could never afford to imitate, nor wanted to. Regardless, he accepted (with some reluctance) Aloth’s tentative invitation for them to travel together, if only for the possibility of robbing him blind at the perfect opportunity — he can still remember the sound of Aloth’s incredulous laughter after he confessed that particular bit of mischief, years later.

  
And yet, he remembers with some fondness, there was never such a thing as the ‘perfect opportunity’, or so he fooled himself into believing back then. There were, in fact, many of those, but Meirion never quite felt like taking advantage of those. It’s not like Aloth had that much money on himself, anyway, so why bother? Then again, why bother hauling him around, then, if his every word made Meirion so annoyed with, well, everything? Those were questions that would remain unanswered for the years to come, until Meirion stumbled upon the stupid realization he had a crush — a _crush_ , for fuck’s sake — on that very irritating wizard, during some drunken night in the Wild Mare that Aloth was too dignified to even think about joining in.

  
The faded memory prompts him to absently trace a finger along the gentle curve of Aloth’s jaw as he explains the different meanings of a particular string of words used in the incantation. His lover casts a half-amused glance at him then, but doesn’t stop speaking, one insistent finger pointing at the page Meirion was supposed to be looking at, and Meirion can’t help but wonder how stupid his own mind was, for taking such a long time to notice such an obvious feeling.

  
He doesn’t quite know why all those memories decided to rush into his head at that exact moment, but they keep coming, like an unending fever dream — arguing with a very secretive Aloth about his sudden changes of personality, getting yelled at by Iselmyr for glaring at Aloth at all, holding his hand on impulse during that awful Animancy session, finding out there was no anger or resentment left in him when a tired Aloth tells him the truth about himself and the Leaden Key, finding him unscathed in the Deadfire after all those years, the warmth of Aloth’s breath on his skin as he leans close to whisper conspiratorially about this or that, their noses bumping awkwardly on their second or third kiss, a shining ring he’s supposed to give to Aloth at some point, if only to replace his current one…

  
“I really like you,” Meirion blurts out then, for no specific reason other than taking advantage of Aloth’s momentary silence as he turns a page in his grimoire. “Like. A _lot_.”

  
“…Thank you?” Aloth responds with poorly concealed amusement, a quick flush rising to his cheeks. “Meirion, are you drunk?”

  
“Do I have to be drunk to like you?” He frowns.

  
“No, but that’s-” It’s Aloth’s turn to frown then, and he inches closer to Meirion, parted lips only a short distance away from his own. “Huh. You don’t _smell_ drunk.”

  
“I told you I’m not.” Meirion all but grumbles, somehow unable to look away from Aloth’s lips. Were they always this beautiful? …And why is he all dizzy again?

  
“Well, you are _something_.”

  
“Yes. Irrevocably in love with some magical smart-ass,” Meirion retorts in what is supposed to be a grumpy-yet-sweet response, but comes off as a bunch of jumbled words. Wow. Maybe Aloth was right. Maybe he was, in fact, _something_.

  
Everything gets a bit hazier then, and, at some point that Meirion failed to take notice of, Aloth’s too warm hand lands on his forehead, soft and gentle, and he lets out a tiny gasp.

  
“You’re burning up!” Aloth nearly shrieks in horror, tossing the grimoire aside in a very non-Aloth manner. “It’s no wonder you’re blabbering about like that. You have a fever!”

  
“You don’t know that,” Meirion protests, and the words sound stupid even to himself. “You’re not a doctor. A real doctor.”

  
“No, but we can get one to check up on you,” Aloth says, looking all sorts of distressed and panicked. “Here. Hold onto me. I’ll take you to bed.”

  
“You’re being very romantic all of a sudden,” Meirion says slowly, barely managing to restrain a sudden urge to vomit that assaults him out of the blue.

  
“Yes, yes. No, keep your hands on my hips. I won’t have you falling down and breaking something. Yes. Like that. Please don’t puke on me. We’re almost there.”

  
Meirion plops down on the bed, feeling all hot and cold and partially dead at the same time, his mind still trapped in that blissful haze of confusion and pure adoration for Aloth. He feels a tingling sensation, and looks down just in time to see Aloth helping him out of his boots.

  
“Don’t look at my socks,” he whimpers, somewhat aware of how pathetic he sounds. “It’s those yellow, ugly ones. You’re going to judge me.”

  
“I’m not going to judge you, Meirion,” Aloth says in what has to be the most patient tone he can muster, with only a subtle hint of amusement. “I’m well acquainted with all your pairs of socks. Including the awful-looking ones.”

  
“Good,” Meirion mumbles.

  
Before Aloth can push him down on the mattress and make him feel even more helpless and pathetic, Meirion carefully dives under the covers, trying to keep the overwhelming cold at bay. Aloth is now sitting by his side, the same worried frown from before contorting his features.

  
“I’ll call- I’ll call for the surgeon and-”

  
“No,” Meirion shakes his head, gently squeezing his lover’s hand. “Just stay here for a bit. With me. I’ll fall asleep before you know it.”

  
“ _Meirion_ ,” Aloth squeezes his hand back. “You need help. And some food. Probably.”

  
“If you want me to puke, sure,” he offers a weak grin. “Please. Pamper me for a bit. Just a little?”

  
“I’ll pamper you all you want,” Aloth says with a very serious expression, “ _after_ the surgeon comes down to see you. Until then, you’ll have to survive without me.”

  
There’s no use arguing with Aloth when he’s this serious, and he would very much like to avoid bringing out Iselmyr and getting yelled at (or laughed at) by her in such a weak state, so he resigns himself to some quiet grumbling as Aloth leaves the room with quick steps. It’s hard for Meirion to know how long it takes for him to return when he’s in such a daze, but Aloth does return, this time accompanied by Eld Engrim and his familiar scent of herbs and what Meirion assumes to be piss.

  
“You’re wrinkly,” he blurts out stupidly as the old sailor approaches his bed and lays several bottles of different unguents at his feet.

  
“Yes, cap’n,” Eld Engrim grins at him. “And you’re sick. Let’s fix that, aye?”

 

-

 

It’s hard to tell how much time has passed when Meirion wakes up, but the sky outside his tiny window is pitch black, and there are no sounds reverberating through the ship aside from the gentle lapping of the waves against the hull, so he assumes it must be very late at night. His body aches and creaks in all the wrong parts, and, while he still feels quite hot and cold under the covers, the worst of his fever seems to be behind him, as he’s once again able to use his brain without turning into a puddle of emotions.

  
Feeling both sluggish and thirsty, he fights against the overwhelming desire to do nothing at all and forces himself to move in the bed, only to bump his back against something very warm and fairly hard. A soft, sleepy moan comes from somewhere behind him, and he turns around, recognizing Aloth’s face under a mess of black hair as he blinks slowly at Meirion.

  
“Sorry. Did I wake you?” Meirion asks in a whisper.

  
Aloth squints at him, as if trying to get a better look at him under the fading light of the oil lantern.

  
“Not really. But you did help me sleep. You were very warm.”

  
“I’m glad that my feverish, dying body could be of help to you,” Meirion mutters in a mockingly solemn tone, dragging a chuckle out of Aloth’s smiling lips.

  
“Are you feeling any better? You look better, at least.”

  
“Well, I don’t feel like crying and hugging myself when I look at you anymore, so I guess that’s an improvement,” Meirion admits. He’s not sure if Aloth realizes he’s actually being serious.

  
“Good.” Aloth pauses, pressing his lips into a thin, worried line. “I wanted to give you something to eat, but Eld Engrim thought it would be better to just let you rest. That you could eat something later. Do you feel like eating?”

  
“What? No,” Meirion scrunches up his nose. “No. I don’t think I can keep food inside me right now. Ugh.”

  
“But-”

  
Aloth grows quiet when Meirion scoots closer and slithers his arms around his waist, but returns the gesture not a moment later, tightening his hold around Meirion’s chest. It’s a bit too warm and not entirely comfortable, for sure, but Meirion wouldn’t have it any other way.

  
“Thanks for taking care of me,” Meirion mumbles against the top of Aloth’s head, lips touching his messy black hair. “I know I can be a handful.”

  
“Nonsense,” Aloth mutters then, very quietly, and they fall into comfortable silence.

  
It lasts until something nags at Meirion’s hazy memories, something he can’t quite remember.

  
“Did I say something embarrassing?” He blurts out then. “When I was, uh, you know.”

  
“You don’t remember?” Aloth raises his head to meet his eyes with a puzzled gaze.

  
“Remember what?” And no one can blame Meirion if he gets a little nervous at that, really.

  
“You… said that you ‘ _really_ liked me a _lot_ ’, if I recall correctly,” Aloth muffles a chuckle against Meirion’s chest. “Not horribly embarrassing, I suppose, but it’s quite the odd thing to say when someone is explaining the etymology of a particularly rare spell to you.”

  
“Oh, _pff_ ,” Meirion scoffs. “That doesn’t sound all that embarrassing. I was afraid you’d tell me I had proposed to you or something.”

  
And that’s where Meirion assumes he’s not as well as he thought himself to be then, because he definitely should have kept that to himself. That’s what a healthy Meirion would do, at least.

  
The silence between them lasts for a tad longer than necessary, before Aloth finally asks:

  
“Why would you… propose to me? I mean, I wouldn’t- but I guess you wouldn’t-” He clears his throat then, and it sounds a bit like a small animal dying. “You didn’t. Propose, I mean. To me. To, uh, anyone, really. You didn’t propose.”

  
“Oh. Good.” Meirion says, and hates the sound of it. Hates how it makes him sound glad he didn’t do it. It might be why he blurts out, then: “Would you accept it?”

  
“Accept what?” Aloth answers too fast, his voice a bit high pitched.

  
“You-” Meirion nearly grits his teeth in frustration and sheer embarrassment. “The- the proposal. Would you accept it?”

  
His mind wanders back to a ring, tucked at the bottom of a pocket in one of his favorite coats, but he adds nothing else.

  
There’s a small moment of silence before Aloth talks again.

  
“I’m not sure how wise it would be to, ah, accept a fever-induced proposal you could potentially forget about later on?” He lets out a nervous chuckle.

  
“Fair enough,” Meirion nods, his chin bumping softly against the top of Aloth’s head. He doesn’t know why, but he feels brave. And stupid. It might be the fever. But it’s not the fever talking when he asks: “What about now? Would you accept it?”

  
“W-what?” Aloth seemingly squeals in confusion, and tilts his head up to look at Meirion. It’s hard to tell under such bad lighting, but Meirion is fairly sure his lover’s face isn’t always that shade of red.

  
“What?” Meirion repeats in response, and wants to hit himself. “The- the proposal. Would you acc-”

  
But Aloth interrupts him not with one kiss, but several kisses, to his chin, his cheeks, his nose, his mouth. It’s all very sudden and very wet and very inviting, but Meirion is too stunned to do anything other than gawk at Aloth and allow himself to be covered in nervous kisses.

  
“Why are you asking now, of all times?” Aloth half-laughs, half-speaks. “You’re a mess when you’re sick.”

  
“It’s not- not because I’m sick,” Meirion protests, and returns Aloth’s kisses with one of his own. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while, now. I was sort of waiting for the perfect moment, but…”

  
“That’s what you said about the time when you were planning to rob me blind, back in Dyrwood,” Aloth recalls with an expression far too fond for someone who’s speaking about being mugged. “Isn’t this perfect enough for you?”

  
It’s Meirion’s turn to smile then, slow and a bit stupid, because it is. His body is still burning up because of the fever, his throat feels like scratchy parchment, and his stomach is still trying to jump out of his body, but somehow, somehow, he appreciates this. Being alive. In his own goddamn ship. With Aloth, and all of his heavy grimoires, and at least a dozen smelly sailors tucked away in different corners of the ship.

  
At that moment, sick and dizzy and nervous and _warm_ , he feels better than he’s ever felt in years. And he knows Aloth Corfiser feels the same.

  
“Yes,” Meirion says then, slowly, and brings a hand to rest against Aloth’s cheek. “It’s perfect.”

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes you just need to write something cuddly and soft and 100% self-indulging am I right
> 
> thank you very much for reading this! It's my first time actually writing anything pillars-related even though I love this series so goddamn much. Sorry for any typos that escaped my attention! I hope this was at least a bit enjoyable to read <3
> 
> (fic title comes from Strange Magic by ELO because im old and i love this song bye)


End file.
